


how buildings hate Peter Parker

by cassiecasyl



Series: October Prompts 2020 [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Buried Alive, Canon Related, Canon Universe, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, More Hurt Than Comfort, Peter Parker Lacks Self-Preservation Instincts, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is a Mess, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Whumptober 2020, Worried Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26815963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassiecasyl/pseuds/cassiecasyl
Summary: Peter Parker is buried underneath a collapsed building with no way out and eventually calls Tony for help.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: October Prompts 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954552
Kudos: 122
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	how buildings hate Peter Parker

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober Day 4: Buried Alive, Collapsed Building

The concrete was a trap. Peter was convinced of it ever since he stepped into the building and saw the raw material in the walls instead of a wallpaper or paint. It unnerved him, and seemingly, so did it his spidey senses. Peter tried to pay the anxious energy no attention, save for looking around an extra time just to make sure there was no real danger. Then, just as he had assured himself, the trap snapped shut. 

The explosion still rang in his ears as Peter found himself buried underneath concrete, his senses finally coming to a rest after needlessly wailing at every single rock raining down in his proximity. Sometimes, he cursed his alarm system. He stretched a bit to test the limits of the hole, breathing shallowly. The worst thing was the dust. Like glitter, it got everywhere. It infested his nose, settled down on his tongue, and irritated his eyes. 

“Help!” he screamed out in buried hope, “Can anybody hear me? I’m in here-,” the dust caught in his lungs at the deja-vu of words and he coughed, hitting against the unstable roof with his back. It shook shortly, and something rolled away, filling Peter with dread. 

Taking a deep breath to calm himself down was a bad idea, and the stone above his head moved again. Now, Peter could see a little light through the material, and the spike on which the stone threatening to crush him balanced. It was the fine line between life and death, but Peter was determined to get out. 

“I’m Spider-Man,” he whispered to himself with a rough voice, hoping to soothe himself. This was hope, he realized, this little light, a promise of freedom, and his belief in his alter ego. But it stood on a razorblade, and Peter saw no way out other than the last time, only this time, there was a high change of the stone sliding down to kill him. 

Peter took another deep breath, suppressed a cough, and briefly closed his eyes. His mind lingered on May, Mr. Stark, MJ and Ned, keeping their picture alive. “I can do this,” he mumbled, “I’m Spider-Man!” Then, quieter, “goodbye.” 

The Vulture’s laughter sounded in his ears as he positioned his hands on the piece of concrete above him, and for a moment he felt just as pathetic as he did back then. What if he didn't make it out? What kind of superhero was he then? With a war cry, he stemmed against the stone, letting it hover over its spindel of balance, bit by bit. It grew heavier by the moment, but he’d get out. He had to. 

Suddenly, something stabbed into his leg, and it buckled in, taking Peter down with it. As the stone he had been holding fell onto the other rock, it crashed, and fearing to lose light, Peter tried to halt it with his hands. He cried out as his bones were smashed, and the pain spread out from his hand underneath the rock, just as trapped as he was. It had joined him, but not as Peter ever intended it to. The dust whirled up in the stale air with the sudden motion, almost choking the enhanced, crying teenager. 

Now, there was nothing he could do. Peter blinked in the darkness and through the blurriness, but his shattered hand was not enough to let the sun shine through. “Hello?” he cried out, choking and coughing, his voice covered with the dust. As if he was already dead, buried six feet under and nobody would ever dig him out again because why would they?

Peter really did not like buildings. Not since the Vulture, and especially not now when they really proved their hate for him. Typical Parker luck, he guessed, to die underneath concrete because he ignored his spider sense one too many times. Seriously, sometimes it was overprotective, yet sometimes it didn’t quip up at all. It was weird and seemingly random, and maybe it just wasn’t as good at sensing some stuff. 

Every slight movement sent agony down his arm. Though somehow, he didn’t want to believe that this was the end. “Shouldn’t have said goodbye, dumbhead. Shouldn’t have called it,” he reprimanded himself. Suddenly, the teen remembered the phone in his pocket. He almost face-palmed, but the movement pulled on his trapped hand, causing him to yelp. 

Sucking in a laboured breath, he padded his pockets for his life-saving possession, and then carefully pulled it out with one hand. Opening it with his less dominant hand proved already difficult, and he cursed himself for not listening to Mrs. Romanoff about training his left hand too. After his eyes got over the sudden, bright, artificial light, he typed in Mr. Stark’s name and pressed call. 

“Please,” he prayed, “please pick up!” The connection sound echoed through his tiny prison, one, two, three times, until his mentor answered. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be in an interview?” Tony nonchalantly asked, not wasting time with any kind of greeting, and Peter could almost see his raised eyebrow. If this wasn’t so serious, he’d laugh. 

“Yeah, well, something got in-between,” he sniffled, trying yet failing at a casual voice. He was already calmer now that Tony was here, and could almost forget his situation. Except, he’d have to ask for help. 

“Peter? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Uh, well, remember how buildings hate me?” Peter started, somehow not wanting to increase the worry in the man’s voice. It already cut too deep, and really, Mr. Stark shouldn’t alway be the one to box him out of trouble. 

“What’s this about, Underoos?” Tony demanded, not in the mood for jokes since he heard Peter’s unnaturally small voice.

“There was an explosion and the building kinda collapsed. I’m trapped” - a sob sneaked past his defences - “and I can’t get out.” 

“Why didn’t you notify me?” Tony snapped at him, but all Peter felt was warmth in his concern and the faint sound of repulsors in the background. He was coming. 

“I am now,” he reminded him, “And I thought I could get out, you know, like last time, but then the balance broke and it smashed my hand and I hate this dust. It robbed me off my light, Mr Stark. This stupid dust is the building’s co-conspiror and it’s stealing my breath and the light is gone.” 

“It’s gonna be alright, kid, just breathe,” Tony answered, and only now did Peter notice how his breath had indeed sped up, and it increased the particles in his lungs. Ew, no more dust. No more. He had just to stop breathing this fast. Or altogether. Would that be okay?

“Mr. Stark?” 

“I’m almost there, Underoos, just hold on.” 

“I don’t want all this dust in my lungs. It’s making me dizzy. But I can’t stop… What if I just stop?” Peter thought out loud. 

“Whatever you do, Pete, don’t you dare hold your breath, understood?” 

“Alright,” Peter deflated, trying to at least even his breathing. His hand had almost gone numb, but pain was still throbbing from the direction, and he let it distract himself from the evil dust. 

He jumped as he heard a crack outside, and just as he hit his head on it, the concrete above him lifted, revealing the familiar figure of gold and red before him, here to save him. Like a stupid damsel in distress. Peter looked up at him through tired, watery eyes. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, as Tony carefully pulled him into his arms. 

“Shh, Bambino, don’t apologize. I’m glad you called. How about we get you home, and you can wash all the dust away, and we’re gonna fix your hand. How does that sound?” 

“Like heaven,” Peter smiled before he passed out. 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [tumblr](https://cassiecasyl.tumblr.com/)


End file.
